“Helo,” Cruen supplied readily.

“Is that his name?”

“He isn’t exactly like you.” No. He wasn’t. Cruen hesitated. Perhaps . . . yes, perhaps that would satisfy. Giving up Pureblood vampire DNA went against everything he stood for. But mutore . . . “I could get you the water beast’s DNA. In fact, I might be able to bring him to you.”

As all the other water shifters started talking at once, the young male’s eyes widened. “Yes, that would do well. He is part vampire. But would he come? Would he keep what we’re trying to do a secret?”

“I’m not sure.” Cruen waited for their faces to fall from disappointment and then added, “But with the right amount of flesh paid to me, I can make sure that after you’re done with him, he doesn’t have the ability to reveal anything to anyone ever again.”

• • •

The desire to feel nothing had been viciously stolen by the overpowering desire to feel everything.

With her.

His hands spread wide on the glass, Syn stood at the doors leading to the terrace and stared out at the New York City skyline. It was ungodly late and snow was falling on the terrace floor in heavy flakes. What had he done? Stealing her away from the Rain Forest and her family? Thinking he could take care of her and the balas? Didn’t he get it that existing was the only thing available to him? He hadn’t been saved from the sun, from following Juliet, to have another chance at life and happiness.

He swiped at the condensation building on the glass. All he deserved was the chance to make things right, pay his toll for failing Juliet. And that toll was the complete and total destruction of Cruen.

“I’m sorry.”

His hand stilled on the glass. He hadn’t heard Petra come up behind him. Shite, he was really losing it.

“Syn.” She paused. Then, “Look at me.”

Looking at her seemed to be the bloody problem. Why couldn’t he just stand here and admire the snow and the view?

“Please,” she said, her tone softly impassioned.

Releasing a heavy breath, he turned, leaned back against the cold glass, and then, when he got a good look at her, wished he hadn’t. Bollocks! Did she have to glow in the goddamn light of the snowflakes behind him? Did her eyes have to be so fucking blue and beautiful and haunting? Did her skin have to scream for his touch, his mouth?

“Okay.” She looked everywhere but in his eyes. “I’m going to be real honest here. And I hope you will be too.”

Honest? Did she really want that from him? Did she even know what that meant when it came to the two of them?

His gaze moved all over her. Black silk and lace against ripe white skin and breasts that insisted on overflowing their confines every chance they got. His hands twitched at his sides. They wanted to be on her, inside her. Along with his cock, which was filling with blood this very second.

Fuck. What was happening to him? And how could he stop it? Curb it? Destroy it?

Or was that impossible now? Was it truly his destiny to want what he could never have?

Never have unless he gave up the very thing that kept him breathing.

“I’m angry at you.”

His eyes snapped up, and this time her eyes met his.

“I’m angry at you for not caring. Because . . . well”—she shook her head—“because I care. About you. I haven’t stopped, you know. And no matter how this rolls along, how insanely attracted we are to each other, it can’t end well. Right? I mean, your need to kill my father is kind of a deal breaker for me. He’s clearly not a good father or even a decent male. And maybe he should be contained in that vampire jail situation.” Her eyes implored him. “But I can’t sit by and watch or accept his death by your hand. You’ve got to understand that.”

“I do.” It was why he’d allowed his emotions to be stripped in the first place.

She chewed her lip. “But you don’t care?”

Gods, she just didn’t get this, get him. “Of course I don’t care.” He growled slightly. “Petra. He murdered my female. Do you understand that? Right in front of my fucking eyes.” He pushed away from the glass. “He destroyed a being. It’s what he does. Hurts and kills and destroys to get what he wants. Now, that doesn’t take away from the fact that he fathered you. I’m grateful.” His gaze moved over her, over her belly, back to her eyes. “Shit, I’m grateful to him for that. But it doesn’t cancel out what he is—what he continues to do.”

She just stared at him, shaking slightly. “I know.”

He looked at her, hard. “He killed my life,” he said again. “What would you have me do?”

It took her a moment to answer. “Start a new one?”

“I don’t know if I can.”

Her eyes widened. Tears filled them. She turned and started toward her room. His chest tightened and he called after her.

“But I do know I want you! Only you!”

She stopped, her hand reaching out for the wall.

Fuck, this is misery. “And I know I can’t bear to take another female’s blood.”

She stayed where she was, still giving him her back.

“The idea makes me feel bloody sick to my gut. Yes, Petra. Yes, love. I said ‘feel.’” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know what the bloody hell is going on. I should feel nothing. But with you, with the balas, I am something impossible.” He pulled in a deep breath. Released it. “Turn around, love.”

She didn’t move.

“Please. Remember that word? You used it on me not more than five minutes ago.”

Her head hung forward for a second. Then she sighed and turned back to face him.

He shook his head when he saw her expression. It was sadness, the sweetest, sexiest thing he’d ever seen, and he wanted to flash to her and cover her mouth, pull moans from her sighs of frustration.

“I never stopped wanting you,” he said, knowing that the words coming out of his mouth were surely damning him. But who the bloody hell cared now? Either way, he didn’t stand much of a chance in the happy-endings department. “Never stopped thinking about you. Cursing you. You tell me what we’re supposed to do now. I did my very best to keep this from happening.”

Her hands went to her belly.

“There’s a war raging inside me, love. Wanting you, wanting to destroy him. I can’t let go of either one and survive.”

Silence filled the space between them as they just stared at each other. Syn was sure she was going to turn around at any moment and go back to her room. She should. She really should. But then her gaze flickered past him and narrowed.

“What’s that?” she asked.

He glanced over his shoulder, saw what she was talking about, and laughed softly. “Further proof that I’m losing the battle.”

Completely captivated, she left the safety of the far wall and walked past him into the living room. He followed her with his eyes, watched as she ran her hand over the top of the small piano.

“Where did you get it?” Her head came up and her eyes locked with his.

“I saw it in a shop window.”

“You put it next to yours.”

“Of course I did.”

Tears filled her eyes and she ran at him, threw herself into his arms. “You’re killing me.”

He pulled her against him. “Right back at you, love.”

Her hands were on his chest, her belly was tucked into him the way he liked it, and her eyes were searching his own. “Take me to bed.”

He grinned. “Fuck you?”

She grinned back. “Please.”

His nostrils flared, and he shook his head ever so slightly. “I don’t know if I have the strength to keep my fangs to myself, love.”

She sighed with what sounded impossibly like relief. “Good.” Then she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bedroom.

18

Syn’s bedroom.

That’s where she’d led them.

The last time she was in here, he was wearing only a towel. Now she wanted him in nothing at all.

The room was relatively dark when they entered. Except for one thing. One amazing thing. A round five-by-five skylight cut into the ceiling directly above the bed, the moon fairly overshadowed by the clouds that were raining down snowflakes, the tiny bits of erratic light scattering on the plush gray quilt. How had she not noticed that skylight before? Had it been daylight? Had it been closed, sealed up to keep the sun at bay?

Syn came up behind her and kissed her neck. She smiled, realizing he’d already removed his shirt, and turned in his arms. Gods, he was beautiful. And terrifying. And breath-stealingly sexy. She ran her hands up his hard stomach to his chest, her fingers vibrating with the sensation of warm male skin. They were going to do this. Again. Syn inside her. Taking her, again.

Syn reached for the edges of her tank and slowly lifted the silk and lace over her head. At first, he just stared. His eyes flashing hunger as they roamed over her belly and breasts.

“So beautiful,” he said. “Bloody hell, veana.”

And then he filled his hands with her, feeling the weight of her heavy breasts, squeezing, then releasing her to tug gently on her nipples.

Instantly heat and moisture pooled in Petra’s sex. She drew air through her teeth, and her face became a mask of erotic desire. In her mind she imagined Syn leading her to the bed, pulling down her pajama bottoms, and sinking into the already soaking-wet heat of her cunt.

But instead, he made her nearly come where she stood.

His head dropped and, squeezing one sensitive mound, he took her hard pink nipple into his mouth. Petra cried out as he suckled. Never in her life had she felt anything so delicious. Cream leaked from her pussy and dripped down her thighs. His tongue continued to lap at her, but he brought his thumb up to meet it, and the two took turns. Tongue. Lash. Thumb. Flick.

Groaning, mumbling incoherently, Petra brought her hand to the waistband of her pajama bottoms and was all set to send it down and through her slit. Gods, he was making her insane. She had to. Had to touch herself. She couldn’t wait.